


The World and Everything

by Kalkasar (Mordhena), Mordhena



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Xindi Arc (Star Trek)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:41:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24972529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mordhena/pseuds/Kalkasar, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mordhena/pseuds/Mordhena
Summary: This story covers multiple episodes of Enterprise within the Xindi Arc and deals with Trip's grief for the death of his sister Elizabeth.
Relationships: Malcolm Reed/Charles "Trip" Tucker III
Comments: 7
Kudos: 16





	1. Reassurance

**Author's Note:**

> This story covers multiple episodes of Enterprise within the Xindi Arc and deals with Trip's grief for the death of his sister Elizabeth.

**Trip**  
  
I'm confused. There's no other way to put it. I don't know what just  
happened back there, but I know it felt good, I know I liked it. I know I  
feel...relaxed physically, but it's confusing.  
  
I'm walking along the corridor with my thoughts all over the place, just  
trying to work out what the hell went on back there.  
  
Go back to your quarters and sleep, she said. I don't know if I wanna do  
that. Sure, I'm tired, haven't had a real, decent night's sleep in... I don’t know how  
long it's been since we heard about that probe. I manage maybe an hour or  
two each night, and then the dreams come. Always the same storyline. I'm in Florida, I'm yellin' for Lizzie to get out of there to find a way but she can't hear me. She never hears and I stand there helpless and watch my baby sister die.  
  
I shoulda been there. I woulda been able to warn her and she'd still be  
alive. I told her once I'd always take care of her. I failed.  
  
The first few nights after it happened, I stayed with Malcolm. He tried hard  
to help me. He tried to get me to open up and tell him how I feel, but I can't  
do that. I can't feel. I can't examine my feelin's I don't have that luxury.  
I just hafta hang on and find who did this and... at least, that's what I  
thought I had to do.  
  
And then we met that Xindi slave down there on that mining planet and he was  
so human...why'd he have to be human? Why'd he have to have a story, and  
need our help and be so desperate to get outta there? It was easy to hate  
them when they had no faces.  
  
And now I'm confused. T'Pol touched me, and I liked it.  
  
I find myself standing outside Malcolm's quarters with no idea how I  
got here.  
  
  
 **Malcolm**  
  
  
He hasn't come near me in weeks. I've spoken to him at meals, on duty, but  
he hasn't come to me as a lover since...well, not since the night he told me  
to go play with my new weapons and get ready to exact revenge on the Xindi.  
That hurt. It hurt a lot and I avoided him deliberately for a few days  
after.  
  
Then, slowly we began to rebuild our...friendship. Yes. It's friendship, it  
doesn't go beyond that. A friendly lunch, a friendly dinner...friendly and  
pleasant workouts in the gym, but I want my lover. I want the man who curled  
in my arms and slept with a smile on his face the night I accepted his  
marriage proposal. He's never mentioned that again. I don't know if he even remembers. So, I act his friend, and wait, and all the while my heart aches for what  
I've lost.  
  
He stayed here with me a few nights after the attack happened. I tried so  
hard to be there for him, to give him opportunity to talk.  
  
The third night, I got a letter from Madeline. She'd received my message  
telling her of my engagement. Her letter must have been sent before the  
probe attacked Earth, because she made no mention...she was happy for us and  
she offered us both her heartfelt congratulations, her hopes that we would  
come home for the wedding, or at least send her a vid.  
  
I'll never forget the look in his eyes after I read it to him, or his words.  
  
"Ya must be real happy that she's alive and able to write ya," he said.  
  
He left then, and he hasn’t been back since. I never thought I could feel guilty for having a living, happy  
sister.  
  
He's not sleeping. It shows. He looks tired and his eyes are dull.  
He and the captain both look worn out and the only time either of them has  
any light in their eyes is when there is a possibility that we've found the  
Xindi.  
  
Both of them were like men possessed when we were told of the possibility  
that a Xindi was living on that mining planet.  
  
The captain threw caution to the winds...as usual, but the predatory light  
in Trip's eyes frightened me most.  
  
When we pulled them out of there, reeking, dispirited, dragging a fatally  
wounded man with them...the emptiness had returned to his eyes. I wanted to reach out to him then, take him in my arms and tell him that  
everything would be all right, but there is a barrier between us that I  
cannot breach.  
  
He talked to me briefly, a few hours later in a hallway. Told me he thought  
my men could have done the job just as well as the MACO's did. I was  
truthful and told him I wasn't so sure about that. Then he was gone. I  
got a brief chance to touch him as he walked away, but he didn't even  
acknowledge the contact.  
  
Lord, how I miss him.  
  
 **Trip**  
  
I stand there, staring at his door and wondering what I should do.  
  
I want to press the door-chime and hear his voice call me inside. I  
want to fall into his arms and take the reassurance I know he'll offer. I  
want to lose myself in him. I want to run away as fast as I can and not face  
him.  
  
Hell what right do I have to expect he'd even wanna see me? I've done  
nothin' but shut him out and push him away for too long. Too much has  
changed. Too many things that I can never put back. I turn away from the door, take a half step. I look back over my shoulder.  
  
  


The last time I was here, he read me a letter from Madeline. I told him he  
must be so happy that she can still write to him. What kind of an asshole says somethin' like that?  
  
I press my lips into a firm line and take another step away from his door  
and the confusion comes crashin' down on me again. Where am I gonna go? I  
don't want to be alone back in my quarters and I'm tired enough to drop down  
and sleep right here.  
  
Maybe it's worth a try. There's no-where else, no _one_ else I can go to  
really. Not even the cap'n can help this time, I know he's just as wrung out  
as I am. I hesitate. Turn back, lift a hand that feels like it weighs a ton and press the button.  
  
I need him now, and I hope like hell it's not too late. Just for tonight, I  
tell myself. Just till I can process all this and get my head sorted out.  
  
The door opens and he's standing there, and his heart is suddenly in his  
eyes. This means way more to him than it does to me right now and I feel  
like a first-class heel.  
  
"Malcolm," I say, but nothing else will come out of my mouth. I swallow  
hard. This was a bad idea. I should just get the hell outta here. Then he  
holds out his hand and I take hold of it. It's like a lifeline and I close  
my eyes.  
  
 **Malcolm**  
  
The door-chime startles me. It's late. Who would want to visit me at this  
time of night? My heart begins to pound uncomfortably. Could it be?  
  
Scrambling off the bed I lunge for the door, I feel I must get it open as  
quickly as possible.

The door opens and he's standing there, and his face is closed. "Malcolm," he says, and then an expression of something close to regret touches his eyes. I can't let him leave. I know he's thinking of running, but I can't let him go. I hold out my hand and my heart leaps almost painfully when he takes it and closes his eyes.  
  
He needs me.  
  
I don't know what any of this means, but he's here and that's all I want it  
to be for now. I just want him here with me. I draw him inside and close  
the door.  
  
I'll take what he can give  
  
 **Trip  
**  
He has hardly spoken two words to me since I got here. He pulled me inside and shut the door and we sat down on the sofa. He's kept hold of my hand and I haven't tried to get loose. I'm sitting here, leaning back against the sofa with my eyes shut and I think I could just let myself sleep. His thumb strokes the back of my hand and it feels nice, soothing. I sigh quietly and squeeze his fingers.  
  
Opening my eyes to look at him, I see the fear in his eyes. He's afraid I'm gonna push him away again, and I can't promise that I wouldn't. I can't promise anything anymore. I let a smile touch my lips, but he doesn't look very reassured. I find myself wishing there was some way I could chase that fear out of his eyes, but there isn't and I'd be livin' a lie if I thought otherwise. I lean a little closer to him, seeking the warmth of his body, wanting to be in his arms; that's about all I can offer for now.  
  
 **Malcolm**  
  
I haven't said much, and when I did, his replies were monosyllabic. I want to ask him why he came. I want to know why now, after all this, he's here, but I know the question is so fraught with things left unspoken all these weeks, that to ask him may be all it would need to chase him away. So I sit here holding his hand and I wait.  
  
He looks at me and tries to smile. It's a sad little smile that does nothing to erase the emptiness from his eyes. I feel tears prick at my eyelids. I swallow hard and try to look as though his little smile means something. I fail. I read that failure in his eyes, and then he leans closer to me and I pull him into my arms, close my eyes and hold him. Just hold him.  
  
"Somethin' happened." His voice is so quiet that I almost miss it. "I needed to come."  
  
He needed to come...to me. He needed to come to me. My aching heart grabs the words and clings to them. I nuzzle against his hair; whisper, "I'm here."  
  
And then it is like something inside him breaks and he is sobbing against my shoulder as I hold him and stroke his back.  
  
"I'm scared..." a ragged whisper. "I'm so scared, Malcolm."  
  
"I know." I pull him closer. "We're all scared, love."  
  
After a moment, I run my fingers through his hair and tentatively ask. "What happened, Trip?"  
  
He is instantly tense, and he pushes me away a little.  
  
"I don't wanna talk about it," he says. "Not yet." He draws a deep breath and I watch his eyes slip closed. He looks utterly exhausted.  
  
"D'ya mind if I stay here tonight?"  
  
"Mind? Why would I mind? Of course, you can stay."  
  
 **Trip**  
  
"It's not as hard as I thought it would be, admitting that I need him. That I'm scared. I expected him to push me away and to tell me to get outta his sight. I had no right to expect any different, but I'm glad he didn't. Yet, much as I might want to, I can't tell him about T'Pol. Even though I know it's not like last time. I didn't kiss her or anything. Not like the time with Kaitaama...this is nothing like that, but with all the hell we went through over that, I just can't bring myself to tell him yet.  
  
He asks me what happened and I turn the question aside, ask if I can stay the night. He seems confused by my askin’, but he says I can stay.  
  
I know I'll hafta tell him what happened, but not yet. Tonight, I just wanna lie in his arms and try to rest. God, I'm so tired...my head is spinning with it. If I can just get one decent night's sleep...  
  
I'll tell him tomorrow. I stumble to my feet and head for the bed.  
  
Malcolm follows me and helps me to get my shoes off before I lie down, fully clothed on his bed.  
  
He joins me and envelops me. I feel cocooned and protected by his warm body pressed against mine.  
  
Just as I drift into exhausted sleep I hear him whisper...  
  
"I'm glad you're here....whatever your reasons."  
  
 **Trip**  
  
It was different this time. Oh, I mean the storyline of the dream was different. Usually I'm in Florida trying to warn Lizzie to get out before the pillar of fire hits her. Not this time. This time I'm at the old amusement park, in some kinda maze...I'm walking around and at first it's all good fun, I can hear a little girl laughin' it's Elizabeth's laugh. I'd know it anywhere.  
  
"Elizabeth!" I call, frustrated. "Where are you?"  
  
"You can't find me!" I hear her chant in a teasing voice.  
  
Then, I'm grown up, and the maze turns to blackened, charred rubble and I'm digging; tearing my hands to ribbons, I feel my nails comin' away from their beds as I scream her name and tear at the huge chunks of mud and stone.  
  
"LIZZIE! LIZZIE!" I'm sobbing, my face covered with the tears I can never shed for her when I'm awake.  
  
"You can't find me." Her voice...her adult voice. "You can't find me!"  
  
"NO!"  
  
I start awake sweating, my face wet with the tears I cried in my sleep. Something's pressin' down on me and I panic, crying out. "Lemme go!"  
  
"Trip?"  
  
"Malcolm..." I close my eyes and breathe deeply.  
  
"Bad dream?" His voice seems to come from a distance, and I nod.  
  
"I'm sorry," he says. He pulls me against him, and I don't resist. It's nice to have him here when I wake up. The dream already seems like a distant echo, and I relax into the warmth of him. He kisses my hair, then my forehead and then his lips seek mine in the darkness.  
  
When our lips meet, fire rips through me. I realize I want him, and I hate myself for it at the same time. I'm using him, but I can't deny the heat which courses through me and I return his kisses with passion.  
  
 **Malcolm**  
  
His cries wake me, and I'm confused for a moment. It’s so long since he has shared my bed that I've become unaccustomed to having him there. Struggling, he demands that I let him go. I call his name. He relaxes and takes a few deep breaths.  
  
"Bad dream?" I ask and feel, rather than see his nod in the darkness. "I'm sorry," I tell him. I am sincere. I can't imagine how it would affect me if it had been Madeline who died. I don't know what else to do, so I begin to kiss him. I've missed him so much. I need him so badly.  
  
When he responds with passion, my heart leaps for joy and I deepen the kiss, exploring his mouth with my tongue, pulling him still closer in the starlit gloom of my quarters. My hands begin to explore, slowly undressing him. His breath is ragged in my ears and he strives to get out of his clothing as quickly as possible.  
  
I have him undressed, warm and passionate and my hand finds his cock. I stroke him and delight in the impassioned whimpers the action engenders.  
  
"I need you, Trip," I whisper and he kisses me again.  
  
  
 **Trip**  
  
God, it's been so long. Too long and I push the nagging thoughts of using Malcolm to the back of my mind and just let him caress and kiss me.  
  
In the darkness of his cabin the only sounds are our ragged breathing and the silken whisper of skin against skin. I moan his name as he burns a trail of kisses over my chest and belly and lower.  
  
When he takes me into his mouth my hips buck off the bed and I cry out with need.  
  
This is one thing Malcolm is damned good at. My head reels with the pleasure of being sucked and caressed by his warm, wet mouth and I shudder as the tension mounts.  
  
 **Malcolm**  
  
The feel of him, the smell, musky and spicy, the taste. My senses are overloaded by him. His moans and cries of pleasure add to my own and I allow a growl of desire to escape, knowing he feels the vibration of it surrounding that most sensitive tip that I hold in my mouth. His organ twitches in response and I sigh happily and settle in for a long teasing session.  
  
Within a few moments, he's writhing on the bed, begging me to finish it and I decide to be merciful, add my hand into the mix and within seconds I am rewarded with the sweet, tangy essence I crave, as he comes with a shuddering groan of release. I make my way back up along his body to kiss him.  
  
He returns the kiss but he is hesitant. I try to read his expression in the dark, and I softly speak his name. "Trip?"  
  
He sighs and touches my cheek with his fingertips and then he gently pushes me off of him and sits up.  
  
"I'm sorry, Malcolm," is all he says before he quickly dresses and leaves my cabin.  
  
What went wrong? What did I do...or not do that upset him?  
  
I don't sleep anymore that night.


	2. Dissonance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authors Note: Dissonance: Music. A combination of tones contextually  
> considered to suggest unrelieved tension and require resolution.

**Trip**  
  
I haven't slept since the night that I spent in Malcolm's cabin. I can't  
sleep. The dreams come when I do, and there's no way I'm gonna go see T'Pol  
again. The after effects of her 'treatment' last time were enough to put me  
off wanting to do that again anytime soon.  
  
I'm kidding myself that I can survive on caffeine and adrenaline.  
  
But bein' awake isn't any better than bein' asleep. When I sleep, Lizzie  
haunts me. When I'm awake, Malcolm's eyes haunt me.  
  
And we're still no closer to findin' the Xindi. If we could find them, and  
do what we were sent out here to do, I know Lizzie would let me rest. I  
could deal with all the rest of it then. I could sleep, and that would make  
a big difference.  
  
Until then...I need more coffee, and I'm gonna ask Phlox for more drugs.  
  
We already lost one man on this wild goose chase. Fuller went down in a  
fight with Osaarian pirates who made off with half the ship's inventory.  
  
I'm sitting in the mess hall tryin' to figure out how to compensate for  
spatial gradients that just won't come right out here, when Malcolm comes  
in.  
  
He asks me how I'm coming with rewriting the laws of physics. Now _that's_  
interestin' I thought I had that conversation with the cap'n.  
  
He joins me at my table, uninvited, and I keep my eyes fixed on my work.  
  
Here it comes. He's asking me about how much rest I'm getting. Now's my chance to tell him about

T'Pol. I look at him, lick my lips. "T'Pol's been helpin' me, showin me how to stimulate my neural nodes."  
  
There, I said it and he's sittin' there lookin at me over the top of his  
mug of tea with eyebrows raised. I wait for the explosion.  
  
"It's not what you're thinkin'," I tell him.  
  
A small shake of his head. "Oh, I wasn't thinking anything."  
  
I decide to change the subject and move onto talk of weapons. That's always  
a good distraction with Malcolm.  
  
 **Malcolm**  
  
He looks so tired and I can see the frustration in his expression as he  
pores over the array of pads on his table. There's a coffee mug in front of  
him, half full of cold coffee, but no evidence that he has eaten anything.  
We make small talk about engines and weapons.  
  
I'm down one staff-member after the last run in with the Osaarians. It's a  
loss that will be sorely felt. Crewman Fuller was the nearest thing to an  
expert where the Photonic Torpedoes are concerned. He'd made them something  
of a pet project; I'd allowed him to read and study up on them to his  
heart's content. Now he's gone.  
  
Trip's cynicism on the matter surprises me. It's unlike him to be so  
dismissive...or it used to be.  
  
He says that our mission is looking more like a one way ticket all the time,  
and that's about as much as I can take from him.  
  
"You're the one who urged me to have a little hope, not so long ago," I say.  
  
His head snaps up and he stares at me in silence for several seconds. "Well,  
I was wrong. I'm not afraid to admit it."  
  
There's that pain in his eyes again - just for an instant - before he  
smothers it and looks away.  
  
"There's always hope, Trip!" I set my empty mug down on the table, willing  
him to look at me. "We have nothing if we lose that!"  
  
"Then I guess, I got a whole lotta nothin'," he mutters and I grit my teeth,  
pushing to my feet.  
  
"You're tired," I tell him. "When was the last time you had a decent meal?  
You _really_ ought to try to sleep." It's the second time I've told him that  
in the last 5 minutes. "Why don't you go see T'Pol? I'm sure she knows what  
she's doing. You need help."  
  
He's on his feet and leaning across the table in an instant.  
  
"Who the hell died and left _you_ in charge, Malcolm?" He practically  
snarls. "I'm getting' sick of you tryin' to push me around! Ever since this  
whole thing with the Xindi started you've been after me! Do this. Do that,  
eat better get some rest. Why don't you just back the hell off?"  
  
He scoops up the padds from the table and stalks towards the doors.  
  
"Oh right, fine! Just run away again!" I follow him, my temper flaring.  
  
"I told ya, ya have no right and no business tellin' me how to live my  
life!" He steps through the doors and I stay right on his tail.  
  
"I beg to differ! Since we _are_ engaged to be married, I consider it not  
only my _right_ but my duty to see that you take better care of yourself.  
It's called love, Trip. Something you appear to have difficulty  
demonstrating of late!"  
  
The moment the words are spoken, I wish I could pull them back out of the  
air and swallow them. He halts in his tracks, not looking at me and I  
swallow hard.  
  
"I'm sorry, Trip. I didn't mean that the way that it sounded."  
  
"Yeah you did." His voice is low and rough. "You meant it, and you had a  
right to say it..." He still won't look at me. "I...I'm sorry. For  
everythin'." He sighs and starts to walk again. "I think...I think I  
had better get back to work."  
  
He leaves and I watch for a moment, longing to go after him, pull him into  
my arms and tell him everything will be all right. I would...if I was sure  
that it would be. As he disappears around a bend in the corridor I shake my  
head and turn in the opposite direction.  
  
  
It was the captain who told me to try getting Trip to rest. He came to the armory ostensibly   
to help me modify the guidance systems for the torpedoes, but I knew the minute he arrived   
that there was more to it than just the weapons. He wasted no time getting to the point.  
As we worked side by side at one of the consoles, Archer glanced over his shoulder to make   
sure we were alone, and then he looked into my eyes.  
  
"How are things with you and Trip?"  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"I know you two have had it rough the last couple of months. How are things?"  
  
Averting my eyes, I heard the captain make a small sound of sympathy in his throat, before he spoke.  
  
"Trip's running himself ragged, Malcolm."  
  
I glanced at him, but didn't speak, pretending to be absorbed in data feeds.  
  
"He can't last much longer the way he's going," the captain went on. "Maybe you should try talking to him he'll listen to you."  
  
"I don't think so, Captain." I shook my head, making a few more adjustments to the alignments.   
"I've tried talking to him. He pushes me away he...avoids my company and when I try to express my concerns he..."  
  
"I'm worried about him," Archer said. "He hasn't stopped to rest since I was in engineering earlier.   
I know I told him to make the weapons a priority, he followed my orders, but he's been holed up in   
the mess hall since then, 'rewriting the laws of physics.'" He turned to face me. "Malcolm, no one else can reach him."  
  
So I went and found him in the mess hall and the outcome was exactly what I'd predicted it would be.  
  
There may have been a time, once, when I could reach him. Even if no-one else could, but that time   
is obviously past. He has shut himself away, deep inside himself somewhere and he won't let anyone in.  
It's ironic, really. I'm supposed to be the one who lives inside a self-made prison. Tucker tore down the   
walls of my fortress -- and used the rubble to build one of his own.  
  
I can't reach him anymore. I don't think that anyone can.  
  
 **Trip**  
  
It was a stupid mistake and I know it only happened because I'm so tired. Thank God it was only me who got hurt.  
  
I swear I depolarized those injectors. I wouldn't have touched them otherwise...would I? I don't know   
anymore. I can't think straight. I can't concentrate on anything. God, if I could just sleep. I asked Phlox   
for more of those injections when I went to have him look at my hand. He refused, told me that I should   
continue the treatments with T'Pol. I don't want to, but in light of the alternative he offered...  
  
Even so, I'm getting desperate enough to seriously consider those leeches or whatever they were.  
  
And then there's Malcolm...He's right when he says I have trouble demonstrating love anymore.   
I can't feel for him the way I used to. I can't feel for anyone. It's like someone threw a   
dampening field around my emotions and there's nothing can get through but anger and hate.   
I don't like it being this way, but I don't know how to change it. Except by getting the people   
who did this and makin' them pay. That's the only thing I think can break through that numbness   
and let me come alive again...at least I hope it will.  
  
We got the injectors back, and the anti-matter storage pods. I should be grateful for small   
miracles, but there's an atmosphere hangin' over the ship that makes us all uneasy. I don't know   
all the details; I'm too tired to listen to the gossip that closely, but they're whisperin' somethin'   
about torture...  
  
 **Malcolm**  
  
Madness...that's what this is. No other word for it. I'll admit I didn't always admire Captain Archer's   
command style. I've criticized him to his face, when he asked for my opinion...but what I witnessed   
today was...sickening, horrific. This is not the same captain that I've known for almost two years.  
  
I couldn't credit the evidence of my own eyes, when I found him peering through the porthole on that   
airlock, watching the Osaarian prisoner gasp for air.  
  
There was no reasoning with him. There was no reason in him in those moments.  
  
When he let the prisoner out and ordered us to take him back to the brig I was relieved...but  
I didn't anticipate what was to come. The Osaarian had regained some of his composure and   
almost all his bravado by the time we reached the brig, and when the captain arrived the man   
became downright truculent.  
  
Every one of Captain Archer's questions was met with jeering responses until his rather limited   
patience ran out. I thought he was going to drag the man back to the airlock...perhaps that would   
have been preferable to what _did_ happen.  
  
Later, on the bridge, T'Pol asked if the prisoner was cooperative.  
  
Only I understood the full implications when the captain replied: "Eventually."  
  
Madness...in his eyes, and in his actions.  
  
I feel responsible -- though I never raised a hand to the man...no...I just stood   
idly by and watched. I feel sick. I feel...alone and there's no-one I can talk to about   
this.  
  
God, Trip...I need you so badly.  
 **  
Trip  
**  
I'm lying in my quarters, staring out at the stars. I hold my harmonica in my hand, I tried to   
play it, but got blowin' the blues and it wasn't helping any. It's only early and it's movie night   
if my mind is countin the days straight anymore. I used to love movie night, never missed one.   
I don't go now though. It's not like I begrudge the others goin' if they want. I just can't do it myself.   
I can't sit there and listen to them laughing at the comedies or watch them holdin' their breath during   
the action and drama flicks. I can't allow myself to join in on that. I *did* try a couple of times early on,   
but...it was just empty.  
  
The last time I went, they showed some movie about a war...I suppose it was meant to boost morale or   
somethin' the Earth guys versus the aliens and the Earth guys won.  
  
'Bout five minutes in, I had to bolt out of the mess hall. I only just made it to my cabin before I was real   
sick. Haven't been back since. The next day, Rostov and a few of the others were comparin' notes on the   
movie in engineerin' and I just about tore a couple of their heads off. I regret that, but I haven't found the   
right time to make it right.  
  
There's a lot of things I regret - a lot of things I haven't had time to make right. Some I never will have time   
to make right. I feel tears prickle behind my eyelids and I screw my eyes tight shut. I'm not gonna do that.   
If I let those tears fall, they'll never stop an' I don't have time for gettin' all soft now.  
  
 **Malcolm**  
  
I'm sitting here next to Travis, with Hoshi seated on my left, staring blankly at the movie screen. I don't   
know what the film is about. There are a lot of explosions, but I'm not following the story line and I don't   
even know the names of the characters.  
  
I don't know why I even bothered to come tonight. Movie night used to be a shared experience for Trip   
and I. He was always more excited about it than I, but I would come along because it made him happy,   
and that was one thing I loved to do - make Trip happy.  
  
Trip hasn't been to a movie night in at least 8 weeks, perhaps longer, not since the night they showed   
something called Independence Day. He ran out of here that night, and I couldn't get him to open his door.   
That was the last movie he agreed to attend. In fact, that was really the last activity we participated in together.  
  
I close my eyes in the darkness against the tears that threaten to spill over. At my side, Travis stirs, lays a comforting   
hand on my forearm. "You wanna go?" he whispers and I nod mutely.  
  
We leave as quickly and quietly as possible. Hoshi offers to come along but I shake my head.  
  
"It's all right, luv. You enjoy the film, I'll be fine."  
  
Travis walks back to my cabin with me, and I invite him in.  
  
He sits on my bed and I make tea, more as a way to keep my hands busy than because I really want any.  
The tea made, I hand a mug to Travis, and take mine with me to the view-port. I stare out at the stars and   
wonder if Trip is at least sleeping.  
  
Travis doesn't speak, and I appreciate his silence. I didn't want to be alone, but I don't feel ready to   
talk yet, either. We're quiet together for a long time.  
  
"What am I going to do?" I whisper the words after a long period of just staring into space.   
I'm not really expecting an answer, and Travis doesn't try to provide one. I glance at him, let   
my lips show a hint of a smile in appreciation.  
  
Turning away from the port, I glance around my cabin. There are hints of Trip everywhere.   
A shirt of his folded neatly on the shelf above my bed, a few of his comic books, a photograph of myself   
that he took, so I could send a copy to Madeline - I'm leaning against a Torpedo bracket, smiling, and my   
eyes are full of love for the man behind the camera. Staring at it, I swallow hard. Trip is the only person   
who ever managed to catch any real light in my eyes for a photograph. Madeline said it was the best picture   
of me she has ever seen.  
  
"Oh god..." I whisper brokenly and sink down on a chair. Travis moves to my side instantly and, to my great   
horror, I find myself leaning on his shoulder, sobbing like a child.  
  
"I...can't do this...anymore."  
  
Travis holds me in his arms, whispering to me, I can't even hear what he's saying   
above my own wretched sobbing.  
  
I can't live like this forever. I can't keep waiting for him to let me back in...  
The storm lasts a few minutes, but eventually I manage to calm myself. I know what I need to do.   
I get up and move around my cabin, gathering up Trip's belongings.  
  
 **Trip**  
  
The sound of the door-chime startles me out of my glum musings and I glance at the clock beside my bed.   
22:00, the movie must be finished. I get up, slowly and put my harmonica on the small table beside my bed,   
making my way over to the door. I press the release and the door slides open.  
  
Malcolm stands in the hallway, holding a small bundle of stuff in his arms. He doesn't smile.   
His eyes have no light in them anymore. It crosses my mind that I'm responsible for that. I stare at him in silence.  
  
The silence surrounds Malcolm as he holds out the bundle to me - a shirt, some comic books, a framed photograph of Malcolm.  
  
I look at them, and then raise my eyes to his face.  
  
"Malcolm?"  
  
He shakes his head slightly, his jaw works, but he doesn't speak. I realize, looking at him, that he's been cryin'.   
He shakes the bundle in a 'take it' gesture, but he still says nothin' I reach out, touch the things with my fingertips.   
I'm afraid to take them, but I can't form any words.  
  
He steps forward, shoves the stuff into my arms and then he executes a military about-face and marches away   
down the corridor. He's gone...  
  
I stumble backwards, the door closes and a moment later, the things hit the floor, falling from my slackened grasp as   
I sink to my knees, gasping for breath.  
  
Malcolm is leavin' me? He's leavin' me!  
  
Something inside me screams at me to go after him, make it right...but I can't find the strength to get to my feet.   
I stay where I am, starin' at the door in silence.  
  
I never thought I could feel pain again after hearin' that Lizzie died...til now.  
  
  



	3. Dissimilitude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dissimilitude: a difference, or the state of being different.  
> When originally published, this part was titled Disparity, but the title didn't really fit. I decided, given the events of _Extinction_ S03E03, that Dissimilitude is a better fit because of Malcolm, Archer and others being transformed into an alien species by a Mutagenic virus.
> 
> **Authors Note:** In the first part, Tucker calls his sister "Liz'beth" which made me tear up when I 'heard' it. In the TV series, Tucker always enunciates the E. when he doesn't call her Lizzie, he says E-lizabeth, but those references are always in public, I figure it is possible, and in my head canon it _is_ a private pet name he has for her...just in case it matters to anyone how he says her name. :) Also, as far as I am aware, canon doesn't mention if Tucker went home to his family or not during the time Enterprise was back on earth. I have assumed not, for the purposes of this story.

**Part I  
  
** "I just hope that Malcolm is sure this is what he wants," Travis Mayweather sat across a table from Hoshi Sato  
sharing an early breakfast before their shifts on the bridge commenced.  
  
The navigator had just finished filling Hoshi in on the details of what had happened after he and  
Malcolm left the movie a few nights earlier.  
  
"I'm hoping they can still work things out, but I have to admit I haven't enjoyed watching Malcolm  
get hurt these past few weeks." Travis took another mouthful of his breakfast. "He sure isn't any happier  
since the other night either."  
  
Hoshi nodded sympathetically. "I don't blame him for doing it though," she murmured.  
"The commander hasn't exactly been the model lover."  
  
"Yeah, but it's been a tough time for him, losing his sister like that." Travis shook his head.  
  
Hoshi levelled a pained look at her friend. "You lost your father not so long ago, and you've coped  
much better than Trip."  
  
Reluctant to give up his defence of the commander, Mayweather shrugged. "That was different, I had  
time with my family, and it helped -- a lot. Commander Tucker didn't have that chance."  
  
"Correction, he was given the opportunity, he just didn't take it." Hoshi sipped her plomeek broth and  
shook her head. "Starfleet command authorized compassionate leave for him when we returned to Earth.  
He took a couple of days, but he didn't visit his family. Just the area where his sister used to live.  
He could have taken longer..."  
  
Travis got to his feet. "Well, if the situation when my dad died had been the same, I might not have  
wanted to go home either."  
  
"Why are you so determined to defend him?" Hoshi asked. "You have to admit, the commander hasn't  
been the easiest person to live with recently!"  
  
"I know," Travis replied. "All I'm saying is that we don't really know how we would react in the same  
circumstances. I just think we ought to cut him a little slack.  
  
"Well, maybe you're right," Hoshi relented. "I just hope that they _can_ work things out. Trip and Malcolm  
belong together. It'd be a shame to think it was really over for them."  
  
Travis nodded and picked up his tray as Hoshi got to her feet. "Me too," he said with a heavy sigh.  
"Malcolm was really starting to loosen up for a while there. Trip's good for him."  
  
They dumped their trays and then headed for the bridge.  
 **  
\---  
**  
Commander Charles Tucker III went through the motions of his day on auto-pilot. He was beyond  
caring whether he paid attention to detail anymore. Overwhelming exhaustion coupled with a numbing  
sense of loss was all he was capable of feeling. He'd thought it couldn't get any worse until a few days ago.  
  
His world was already in fragments, but then, the final blow had fallen when Malcolm Reed came to his cabin  
and silently handed the commander all the personal effects that Trip had left in his quarters over time.  
  
The fragments had shattered into slivers and he had nothing left. Somehow, he kept breathing and moving  
and going through the motions of life, but inside there was nothing but empty, dead space.  
  
He blinked slowly, staring into a computer console. The same one he'd been staring into for at least the last  
five minutes. He couldn't make sense of anything on the screen. It might as well have been written in Xindi.  
  
Xindi. Trip's head came up. The Xindi had done this. They had brought him to this state. The name was like a  
thorn somewhere in his skin, an irritation and annoyance that he wanted to pick off and cast away...  
He would, just as soon as he could find out where they were. He promised himself that. The promise   
of that sweet vengeance was all that kept him going.  
  
Well, almost going.  
  
A voice next to his ear made him start and spin around as though expecting an attack.  
  
"Sir?" Michael Rostov took a half step away from the engineer, wincing at the obvious   
lines of strain and exhaustion in his commanding officer's features. "I didn't mean to   
startle you, Sir." He smiled disarmingly, "Your shift ended about ten minutes ago."  
  
"Oh." Tucker glanced at a nearby chrono, hardly making sense of the blurred digits.   
He palmed his face. "Right," he muttered and stumbled towards the exit.  
  
"G'night, Sir." Rostov watched the engineer leave and then returned to his work with   
a slight shake of his head.  
  
Tucker made his way into the corridor where he paused and leaned against a bulkhead.   
He didn't know where to go. For now, the idea of returning to his cabin was repugnant.   
He'd spent too much time there lately, and besides, there were too many painfully fresh   
memories there just now. He closed his eyes. His head spun and he felt as though he   
would pitch forward any second and fall on his face. So tired...  
  
He shook head to clear it. What did he want?  
  
Tucker lifted his head, staring along the corridor and sniffed the air. "What is that?" He sniffed   
again. "Peaches..." He took a half step forward. "I can smell peaches... _Georgia_ peaches!"  
  
Maybe the smell was real, and maybe it wasn't, but peaches had been a favourite treat   
when he and Lizzie were growing up, and Tucker suddenly had an intense desire to eat some.  
  
He walked forward more confidently. He'd bought a case of Georgia peaches when _Enterprise_   
had returned to Earth. A smile touched the engineer's lips as he made his way to the food stores.  
  
The peaches were in stasis, just as he'd expected them to be, and he took a couple out of the   
storage area and sank down on the floor with his back against a bulkhead.  
  
Biting into the tangy-sweet flesh of one of the fruits, Tucker closed his eyes with a moan of delight.  
  
An instant later his eyes snapped open as a feminine voice joined him in appreciation of the fruit.  
  
She sat on the floor opposite. Her long hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders, eyes closed   
as she savoured the taste. Then, she opened her eyes, bright, happy, blue eyes and smiled at him.  
  
"I haven't had a Georgia peach in months!"  
  
"Lizzie?" His voice was hoarse, and Tucker cleared his throat. "You can't be here," he said softly. "You're..."  
  
Lizzie shrugged, and a small musical chuckle broke from her lips. "Well, here I am. So there." She wrinkled   
her nose at him playfully and took another bite of the peach.  
  
Deciding he must be dreaming again, Tucker leaned back against the bulkhead with a sigh and took another   
bite of the peach. At least this wasn't a dream of death and destruction and he decided he might as well enjoy   
it while it lasted. He stared at his sister as he ate in silence.  
  
"It's good to see you eating," Lizzie said. "I knew the smell of peaches would tempt you."  
  
"You did that, huh?" Tucker rolled a piece of fruit across his tongue before swallowing it.   
"You still know me too well."  
  
"Charles," Lizzie leaned forward, gazing into his eyes. "You should share these with Malcolm."  
  
His head snapped up. "Wha?"  
  
"The peaches. Malcolm would probably like them too."  
  
"I don't think that's such a good idea," Tucker stared at the half-eaten fruit in his hand.   
"Malcolm and I..."  
  
"I know." Lizzie touched his hand and Tucker almost jumped out of his skin. She felt warm   
and real and alive. He met her eyes, his own filling with tears.  
  
"I don't wanna lose him, Liz'beth," he whispered.  
  
"Then fight for him. Get better, Charles. I don't want you to be sad."  
  
Tucker closed his eyes with a sob. "I'll try," he said.  
  
When he opened his eyes again, she was gone. Tucker stared at the space where she'd been   
sitting and then dropped his gaze to the fruit in his hand. Was it real or did he dream her presence?  
  
 _Get better, Charles. I don't want you to be sad_. Lizzie's words echoed in his head and Tucker dragged himself to his feet.  
  
He grabbed a small stasis unit from a shelf and put three peaches into it. It was late he realized.   
He must have been sitting here much longer than he'd thought, but he pressed a comm unit and   
called T'Pol's quarters.  
  
 **  
Part II  
**

This _creature_ was Malcolm?  
  
Tucker stared at the humanoid lying unconscious on the floor of the  
shuttlepod. Okay so it was in Starfleet uniform, it had Lieutenant's rank  
pips on the breast. It had shaggy dark hair that _might_ be Malcolm's if it  
was washed and combed. But the resemblance ended right about there.  
  
Added to that was the fact it had been intent on killing him. Just as intent  
as the one T'Pol called 'Captain' had been.  
  
Tucker's friends were completely unrecognizable, and he had a pounding  
headache as testament to being slammed across the face with half a tree.  
  
Jon, if that thing could even be _called_ Jon had intended that blow to  
kill. As it was, the faceplate of his suit absorbed most of the impact,  
whilst his face was slammed against the inside of his helmet. Tucker closed  
his eyes. God, his head hurt.  
  
Tucker cast a cursory glance over the other members of the away team. Chang  
didn't look much happier than Tucker felt. He was conscious, but clearly  
sore, and pissed off about it. He'd been attacked by 'Malcolm' as well, and  
he was obviously devoting at least a part of his attention to kicking his  
own ass about it.  
  
Trip turned his attention to getting them all back  
to Enterprise safely. He would worry about his headache and the morale of  
the away team as soon as he had 'Malcolm' secured in decon and could get the  
captain, Hoshi and T'Pol back from that planet.  
  
Docking the shuttlepod and getting Malcolm to sickbay was a lengthy process.  
Full bio-hazard protocols meant that just getting to where they could get  
out of the EV suits took more than an hour. By then, Tucker's head felt like  
it would explode and when Phlox applied gentle pressure across his nose,  
forehead and cheekbones, he winced and hissed with pain.  
  
"What happened, Commander?" Phlox asked and Tucker shook his head.  
  
"I walked into a tree that had Cap'n Archer attached to the end of it," he  
muttered. "Can you just gimme somethin' for the headache, Doc? I don't have  
time to hang around here."  
  
Phlox grunted an affirmative and picked up a hypospray. "Under the current  
circumstances, I agree, but I want you to return if the pain doesn't  
significantly decrease within the next half hour, understood?"  
  
"Sure, Doc." Tucker was off the biobed almost before the medication had  
fully discharged into his system. "I'll come back and check on Malcolm as  
soon as I can," he said distractedly as he headed for the doors.  
  
Stepping into the corridor, Tucker drew a deep breath, relieved to get away  
from the doctor, and distance himself from what had happened on the planet.  
He needed time to process. He wasn't the kind of combat soldier the MACOS  
were, neither was he conditioned to battle the way that Malcolm was. He  
leaned against the wall and closed his eyes as his knees buckled.  
He'd been engaged in a battle for his life down there.  
  
The realization hit him hard. His best friend and his lover had just tried  
to kill him.  
  
His lover -- Malcolm.  
  
"Oh my god." Tucker felt his knees give out and he slid down the wall,  
swallowing hard against a wave of nausea. "That's _Malcolm_... my Malcolm..."  
  
The sound of the sickbay doors sliding open had him struggle to his feet  
with an effort.  
  
"Commander?" it was Chang. "Is everything all right?"  
  
"Yeah." He straightened, squaring his shoulders with an effort. "I'm  
okay... thanks." Trip forced himself to walk away. He  
couldn't go back into sickbay. He needed time to sort through some things  
first, and besides, the ship and the crew were hardly out of the woods yet.  
He needed to focus on finding a way to get the rest of his people back on  
board.  
  
But first, he needed a shower. Yes, he'd been through the whole bio-hazard  
cleanup and yes, all his clothing from the away mission had been removed and  
what couldn't be sanitized would be destroyed but, still his skin felt  
grimy -- dirty. It was a deep sense of violation that wouldn't go away.  
Tucker headed for his cabin, he needed to wash his hair, scrub his skin and  
get into clean clothes...again.  
  
\---  
  
It seemed as though he scrubbed for hours before the violated feeling  
finally ebbed enough to let him get out of the shower and dress in a fresh  
uniform. He neatly combed his hair, pulling himself back together the best  
he could. He really should go back to the sickbay and at least look in on  
Malcolm.  
  
  


The amazing thing was that as tired as he'd been the night before, he now  
felt alert, awake and ready to take on anyone or anything that stood between  
him and his aim of getting his people back.  
  
Tucker squared his shoulders as he stepped out of his cabin. The time for  
sitting around snivelling was past. He had a job to do and he planned to do  
it. His tread more resolute than it had been in weeks, the commander made  
his way back to the sickbay.  
  
Approaching the doors though, his pace faltered. That thing that he'd  
brought back from the planet had leaped at him out of the cover of thick  
undergrowth with murder in its eyes and he was meant to believe it was  
Malcolm? He still couldn't quite reconcile that with the gentle and tender  
lover he knew Malcolm to be. He swallowed hard before he entered the  
sickbay.  
  
Phlox stood with his back to the engineer, watching the alien creature on a  
small monitor.  
  
'Malcolm' rampaged around the decon chamber, growling and chittering to  
himself in a language Tucker couldn't understand. His body language told of  
fear and anger as he examined every crack and crevice in the walls for  
possible escape routes.  
  
Tucker watched for a second and then he spoke, almost defiantly.  
  
"He didn't even recognize me!"  
  
"Don't be offended, in his current condition I doubt that he'd recognize any  
of us," the doctor replied.  
  
A little chastened, Tucker turned his attention to asking about Malcolm's  
condition.  
  
Trying to focus while Phlox explained just what the mutagenic virus was  
doing to Malcolm's body, Tucker fought down another wave of nausea. He'd  
been right, that thing _wasn't_ Malcolm. At least not the Malcolm Tucker  
knew. It was an alien being whose DNA was taking over and  
obliterating every trace of the man Trip loved.  
  
T'Pol seemed to have immunity. That was a glimmer of hope in an otherwise  
impossible situation. Tucker's mind clutched at it, even as he answered a  
summons to the Bridge. It seemed they were about to have company, and as the  
senior ranking officer aboard, he was going to have to field this one.  
  


  
**Part III**  
  
  
  
Tucker's mood was not much improved by the discussion over the comms with some   
alien quarantine agent who was coming aboard Enterprise to 'assess' Malcolm's condition   
and decide whether the 'organism' should be eradicated. The commander ground his teeth   
in anger as he made his way along a corridor.  
  
The alien's attitude had grated on him from the moment they answered the hail. He hadn't   
even got a chance to properly introduce himself before being bluntly informed _Enterprise_   
was in restricted space.  
  
The encounter had gone decidedly downhill from there. Tucker fumed. There was no way   
anyone was going to come aboard his ship, summarily dealing death to anyone, most particularly   
not _Malcolm_.  
  
 _"Does he look like a member of your crew? Does he recognize you? Does he even speak your language?"_  
  
Tucker muttered a curse as he headed for the decon chamber. There was only one way to find the answers   
to those questions. He would talk to Malcolm. Surely Reed would remember him. They were lovers, he _had_   
to -- his life depended on it.  
  
The creature paced the confines of the chamber, occasionally pausing to scratch at the walls and make that   
strange soft sound, like the clicking of teeth overlaid with a muted purring. It paid no attention to Tucker   
when he stopped at the small observation port.  
  
Trip watched for a few moments before he pressed the intercom.  
  
"Malcolm."  
  
With a snarl, the creature turned in the direction of the port, staring at him with those odd, light eyes.   
It half crouched, wringing its hands together and tilting its head to one side.  
  
Tucker swallowed hard and pressed on. "Malcolm, it's me, Trip...you know me, dontcha?"  
  
Hunkering down, the creature sniffed the air, apparently trying to catch his scent and Tucker shook his   
head.  
  
"I'm sorry ya can't smell anythin' we have t'keep the chamber sealed." He stepped closer to the window.   
"Malcolm, do ya remember anythin'? Enterprise? Phlox? It's important. You hafta remember."  
  
A few shuffling steps brought the creature close to the window, and it pressed its fingers against the glass.  
  
"Urrrrquaaaaat," it said. "I don't remember...what happened. Must go to...Urquaaat, they will tell me."  
  
Tears pricked behind Tucker's eyelids and he took a deep breath. "I don't know what Urquat is," he said.  
  
The creature bared its teeth, tipping its head to one side. "Urquaaat. Let me go. Why...are you...keeping   
me heeere? I must...go to Urquaaat."  
  
"I can't let ya go, Malcolm," Tucker whispered. I won't, he told himself silently, he moved to lay his fingers   
against the glass, pressing them over Malcolm's where they still pawed at the glass.  
  
"Enterprise is your home. You belong here with... us."  
  
With a sudden and violent motion, the creature hurled himself against the glass, snarling at Tucker. "Urquat!   
Let...me...go!"  
  
Tucker stumbled backwards and shook his head. "I can't...I'm sorry."  
  
  
  
"kkkkkkkk" The creature's posture changed and it pressed against the glass once more. "Come... with me…   
we can... go together... you will see...Trip..."  
  
At the sound of his name on the lips of the creature, Tucker turned away, his heart aching. Malcolm wasn't   
there. This was just some alien animal that would do anything to get loose. He blinked back tears as he   
headed for the doors. There were only a scant few minutes left before the containment agents would   
arrive aboard Enterprise.  
  
As if on cue, the comm. panel came to life and Travis called him from the bridge.  
  
"Tucker," he answered, trying to ignore the growing leaden weight in his guts.  
  
"The commander of the containment ship has arrived, sir." Travis informed him.  
  
Tucker nodded. "Have someone escort him to sickbay," he replied. "Tucker out."  
  
Leaving the decon area, Tucker made his way to sickbay. Maybe Phlox had worked out some way to counter   
the virus by now. It was the one last, slim hope he had. Even if Phlox hadn't found a cure, Tucker thought,   
he would be damned if he would let these people...whoever they were, hurt Malcolm, or any other member   
of his crew. He would do anything in his power to prevent that.  
  
Phlox was bent over a computer console, muttering about readouts when Tucker entered sickbay. The commander   
moved to the doctor's side.  
  
"The quarantine officer is on his way here," he said grimly. He met the doctor's eyes as Phlox straightened.   
"I went to see Malcolm."  
  
"I was observing," Phlox said with a nod. "Did you see any indication that he knows you?"  
  
"No." Tucker looked down at his hands and shifted his weight from one foot to the other.   
"Doc, there's somethin' I gotta say, and it's not easy, but..." Passing his tongue across his lips,   
Tucker closed his eyes and pressed on quickly. "If worse comes to worst and we can't cure this...if they hafta be..."   
Tucker lifted his head and went on resolutely. "I want it to happen here -- humanely and amongst people who   
know them and give a damn about... who they are... were." He almost choked over the last few words. "I won't   
let these people who don't know or care about them just..."  
  
"It may not come to that, Commander," Phlox replied. His kindly blue eyes clouded with sympathy. "However,   
I understand your reasoning, and I concur." The Denobulan reached out one hand, almost hesitantly and made   
the briefest physical contact, brushing his fingers across Tucker's upper arm. "Optimism, hm?"  
  


  
**Part IV**  
  
  
Charles Tucker III strode into the decon area to find Phlox awaiting him. "What's happening?" he asked.  
  
"Ah! You're just in time, Commander!" Phlox turned to greet him with a wide grin. "You'll be happy to know   
your idea with the peach was successful and I have developed a counter-agent against the virus. As he spoke,   
the doctor held up a small vial of greenish looking fluid. "All I need to do now is administer it."  
  
"That's great, Doc." Tucker felt relief wash over him as he glanced through the viewing port at the alien which   
had ceased pacing and appeared to be asleep, sprawled on the floor of the chamber. Tucker's brow creased in   
a frown. "We can't go in there with it -- him," he said. "So how are you gonna give him the medicine?"  
  
"The mutagenic virus was airborne," Phlox explained. "I see no reason why, in Mister Reed's case the counter-agent   
can't be applied in the same way." He moved towards a control panel. "I've never had to use this function of the chamber   
before, but it's always been available."  
  
The doctor slotted the vial into a small aperture on the control panel and tapped a few controls. "This will discharge the   
agent into the air and Lieutenant Reed will inhale it."  
  
Nodding absently, Tucker moved to the view port, watching the sleeping creature inside.  
  
"How long before it takes effect?"  
  
"Oh it should start working immediately," Phlox replied, "though it may be some time before we notice any outward changes."  
  
Tucker sighed and acknowledged the doctor's words with another small nod. His eyes were fixed on the form of the Loque’eque   
where he lay sleeping on the floor.  
  
He'd gotten the idea to fetch a peach from T'Pol's quarters after the doctor told him that time was running out earlier.  
  
T'Pol had accepted his gift of the peaches with the usual Vulcan lack of grace and had taken one bite out of one of the   
fruit before setting them aside, telling him his gift didn't make up for the sessions he'd cancelled.  
  
Tucker still felt the sting of that like a slap in the face. Following so close on the heels of his vision or dream of Lizzie, whatever   
it had been, the cool reception from T'Pol had been a harsh let down. The irony of it wasn't lost on him though. Something the Vulcan   
had considered of small value was instrumental in saving her life...if this cure worked.  
  
 _C'mon, Malcolm...you've gotta fight! Come back to me.  
_  
The Loque’eque tensed and sprang to his feet, sniffing the air. His eyes wild, he scuttled into a corner and crouched, still sniffing   
suspiciously and then he seemed to go into a panic, racing around the chamber, clawing at the walls.  
  
Tucker pressed the intercom. "Malcolm," he said softly. "It's okay, Malcolm, nothing's wrong. No-ones gonna hurt you..."  
  
At the sound of Tucker's voice, the creature paused a moment and glanced towards the port. "Let me...ouuut," he growled.   
"Air...bad...what are you...doing?"  
  
"The air has medicine in it. It's to...help you remember..." Tucker faltered over the half lie and pressed closer to the glass.   
"Trust me, Malcolm, please. Everything's gonna be okay."  
  
Behind him, the doctor cleared his throat and Tucker glanced over his shoulder.  
  
"I think I will observe from the sickbay," Phlox said. "I can access the chamber controls from there if need be." He smiled and   
quietly left.  
  
Tucker turned his attention to the decon chamber and swallowed hard as the man inside hunkered down in a corner.  
  
"I'm sorry, Malcolm," Tucker whispered. He closed his eyes for a moment, unable to watch the obviously terrified creature.  
  
"I must go to Urquaat they will help me remember... the air... bad! let me ouuut!!" The Loque’eque fell to making that little   
purring noise and Tucker opened his eyes.  
  
"Just a little longer, then you can come out, I promise."  
  
Tucker moved closer, pressing his hands to the glass barrier. He watched in horror as Malcolm suddenly arched his back with   
a harsh cry and then doubled over, groaning in pain. The engineer hit the comm. button. "Phlox!"  
  
"Relax, Commander," The doctor's serene voice came back. "This is perfectly normal. He has begun to revert."  
  
"He's hurtin'!"  
  
"That is an unfortunate side effect of the mutation, I can't do anything for it as yet."  
  
Tucker swallowed, nausea assailing him as Malcolm clutched at his head, wailing in pain. "Malcolm!" he called through the intercom.   
"Malcolm, it's okay... I know it hurts, I know you're scared, but it's nearly over." He longed to get into the chamber and take his lover   
in his arms. "God, Malcolm. I'm so sorry." And he realized, somewhere in the back of his mind that the apology covered so much more   
than just this moment, this pain. He sobbed and kept talking, not knowing what else to do.  
  


"I'm sorry for pushing you out...I'm sorry that I've been a selfish ass...I'm sorry that I... I just didn't care what you were feelin' or..."   
he choked. "I hope you can forgive me, Malcolm."  
  
The man inside the chamber fell silent, still hunched over, his hands covering his face, Tucker clawed at the glass. "I don't wanna   
lose you, Malcolm. I love you," he whispered as he closed his eyes and allowed stinging tears to fall. "I love you."  
  
Leaning against the glass, Tucker finally gave vent to the bottled-up pain. His shoulders heaved with helpless sobs and his fingers   
curled against the glass that separated him from the most important person in his life.  
  
He cried openly, not caring who saw or heard him. He wept for his lost sister, for the aching space left in her place in his heart.   
He wept for the man he had pushed out of his life, for the friends he'd held at arm’s length, for his family whom he'd barely   
contacted since the attack on earth. He allowed his knees to give and slowly sank to the floor, lost in his grief.  
  
He sat there, weeping for a long time, until a gentle voice broke through his sorrow; a familiar, accented voice over the intercom.  
  
"Trip? Are you there? What's wrong?"  
  
"Malcolm!" Tucker scrambled to his feet. "Malcolm!" He punched the comm to sickbay, "Phlox..."  
  
"Yes, Commander, I'm right here..." Phlox spoke right behind him and Tucker started, glancing over his shoulder. The doctor   
turned to look through the viewing-port. "Welcome back, Lieutenant."  
  
"What happened?" Malcolm frowned. "I don't seem to recall... I was on the planet with the captain, we had located a ship...   
was there an accident? Why am I in decon?"  
  
"We will explain everything, Lieutenant," Phlox said, "But time is limited."  
  
"Is it safe to let him out?" Tucker looked from the doctor to Malcolm and back.  
  


  
"I'm afraid not, Commander," Phlox said with a small shake of his head. "I can't risk letting anyone encounter the mutagen,   
until I am able to inoculate the rest of the crew.  
  
"Inoculate?" Malcolm's frown deepened. "What happened? Where is the captain? the others? Are they injured?"  
  
Tucker sighed and looked into the almost familiar face of his lover through the glass. "It's a long story, Malcolm." He glanced at Phlox.   
"At least we know it works, and I can go back for them."  
  
"Would somebody _please_ tell me what the bloody hell is going on?" The irritation in Reed's voice made Tucker smile.  
  
He glanced at Malcolm and then to Phlox. "I'll let you handle that one, Doc. I have a rescue mission to organize." He grinned at Malcolm   
one last time. "Good to have you, home, darlin'," he said and then turned his thoughts to duty as he walked out of the decon area.  
  



	4. Discursion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now, his reaction to the taste of it is just downright sexy. He eats  
> that thing the same way he has kissed me sometimes; hungry and demanding. It  
> sure is somethin' t'see.

**Trip  
**  
It's over. The away team is back aboard and for the most part, restored to their proper selves. I haven't seen Malcolm since yesterday when I left him in Phlox's hands, still in the decon chamber and still only barely looking like the Malcolm I know.  
  
I've just finished a half day in engineering. Cap'n Archer offered me the day off, but I didn't want the whole day, I had a few things to get caught up on, so I worked the morning, but I'm off-duty as of this minute. I took a shower and now I'm in the food stores. I need some peaches, and this time, I'm not sharin' em with T'Pol.  
  
I put three peaches into a stasis container and head for B Deck.  
  
As I pass a couple of crewmen in the corridor I smile and nod. "Afternoon," I say, and I resist the temptation to look back as I pass. I know they've turned to watch me. I smile to myself. It feels good to smile. Especially when it surprises my crew mates.  
  
Malcolm has the day off today, and I've heard that he wasn't lookin' so good in the mess at breakfast time. Someone mentioned that he'd complained that the food wasn't agreeable with him. I figure maybe some fresh fruit is just what he needs. I stop outside his door and press the chime. It takes him a little while to answer and when he does, he's half asleep and pale and tired lookin'.  
  
I wonder if I should've come. I wonder if he even wants to see me. I bite my lip. Really, the last few weeks haven't been so great. I hold the stasis pot in front of me almost defensively and try a timid grin.  
  
"I heard you weren't feelin' so hot," I mumble. "Thought you might like some..."  
  
He's staring at me and his eyes hold a mixture of about ten different emotions. I lower my eyes, swallow hard. I wait for him to tell me to 'bugga orf' as he says it.  
  
"Trip?"  
  
I look up and he's still standin' there, starin' at me with those dark, stormy eyes. He steps back and waves me inside, the gesture seems weak and he sighs.  
  
"Come in, please."  
  
My heart starts to poundin' so hard I almost choke.  
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
**Malcolm**  
  
I don't know why he's come, but I would be lying if I said I wasn't glad he did. He's holding a small container in his hand, which I recognize as a stasis pot from the food stores. I don't think I could really eat anything, but the gesture is sweet and I smile and take it from him as he steps inside.  
  
"They're peaches," he says as I lift the lid and peer inside. "Georgia peaches I had a crate shipped aboard before we left Earth. I figured since you're not handling the processed food in the mess, some fresh fruit might set a little better with your stomach."  
  
He's rambling, nervous but he's here and I can scarcely believe it when, after giving me the fruit, he doesn't just bolt. I stare at him, not knowing what to say.  
  
"Thank you." I pick up a peach and sniff it. I can't restrain myself from opening my mouth, taking the scent with my tongue as well as my nose and I glance at him a trifle apologetically. The mutagen is completely neutralized and poses no threat, but the instinctive reactions of the creature I became temporarily still persist.  
  
He grins and shrugs. "That's kinda cute," he says and the tension between us suddenly melts away.  
  
"It smells delightful," I say softly.  
  
"So eat it already!"  
  
I chuckle and turn the fruit over in my hands, seeking the perfect spot to bite and then sink my teeth into the flesh.  
  
Everything I have eaten since coming aboard has seemed bland and tasteless to me, tasting only of salt or sugar, or in the worst case...fat. The peach however, tastes so delightfully tangy-sweet that I think every salivary gland in my entire mouth goes into overdrive. I close my eyes, lost in the sensual experience of it and have devoured half the peach before I hear Trip's amused laughter. I pause and look up at him. I am sure I must present a sight...my face covered with flesh and juice which I attempt to lick away as he shakes his head at me.  
  
"You owe your life to a peach, ya know." He smiles and moves to sit on my bed, "And my sister."  
  
"Really?" I glance at the fruit in my hand and hunker down in front of him. "Tell me."  
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
**Trip**  
  
Watching his reaction to that fruit is kind of odd, and it's cute the way he puts out his tongue when he sniffs it. I think it's cute anyway. He tells me it smells delightful, and I urge him to eat the thing.  
  
Now his reaction to the taste of it is just downright sexy. He eats that thing the same way he has kissed me sometimes-hungry and demanding. It sure is somethin' t'see.  
  
In the end, I can't help laughin' he's obviously forgotten all about me, lost in the experience of something that is clearly agreein' with his stomach real well.  
  
He looks up then, his cheeks and chin all covered with juice and pulp, he was sure enjoyin' that peach. He looks a little embarrassed and his tongue flicks out, trying to get some of the mess off his face. I grin and move to sit on his bed.  
  
"You owe your life to a peach," I tell him, "and my sister."  
  
It's all I can do not to laugh again when without even thinkin' about it, he squats down in front of me and demands that I tell him.  
  
I give a small shake of my head and smile. "Why don't you come sit here?" I pat the bed next to me and he lithely springs from the floor, landing beside me lightly, but still crouched. I give up and begin to tell him how I saw Lizzie the night I went to get some of those peaches.  
  
He listens and eats at the same time, grabbing a second peach and attacking that one with the same enthusiasm. Once or twice, he makes a little purring sound, but I know, even though he's busy with the food, he's also payin' careful attention to my words.  
  
"Do you think she was really there?" Malcolm drops the stone from the last peach back into the pot and meets my eyes.  
  
"I don't know. I don't really believe in ghosts."  
  
"You don't?" he seems surprised and shakes his head. "I do." He doesn't elaborate, and I don't pursue it.  
  
We fall silent for a few moments and Malcolm wipes his face with his hands, licking his fingers to get all the fruit off them.  
  
After a while he sits down on the bed, cross legged.  
  
"I'm glad you came here tonight," he says.  
  
"Me too." I look into his eyes. "Malcolm I think we need to talk."  
  
  
 **Discursion II  
  
Malcolm**  
  
"Malcolm I think we need to talk."  
  
The words I've been longing and also dreading to hear for the past weeks…or is it months now, time has become blurred in my mind. I nod silently and he leans against the wall, kicking off the loafers he wears and crosses his legs, unconsciously mirroring my own posture.  
  
Neither of us says anything for several moments. I watch him, the play of emotions over his face, the way his eyes shine softly in the low lighting of my cabin, I can see he's engaged in some kind of inner struggle and I give him time to think.  
  
After a while, he stirs, rubs the palms of both hands across his face and through his hair. He turns to look at me then, and his eyes are so full of sadness that I draw in a sharp breath and swallow hard, wondering what piece of explosive matter he's about to detonate over us.  
  
"I'm so sorry, Malcolm," he murmurs and I tense, look away, waiting for the words I know will follow, the words that will end our relationship, our engagement…my world.  
  
I don't really blame him, _I_ was the one, after all, who made the first move. I was the one who thought to shake him up by giving him back all the belongings he'd left in my cabin over the last few months. Did I _really_ expect that he would come back to me as though nothing had happened? I draw a deep breath steeling myself and wonder why he just doesn't come out and say it.  
  
I look up at him. He's turned away from me, and his eyes are closed. I see the tears that stream over his cheeks, his shoulders tremble with quiet sobs. I want to reach out, to comfort him, but I can't seem to move.  
  
"Trip?"  
  
He gasps for breath and one hand scrubs at his face again.  
  
"I've been such a fool," he stammers. "I treated ya like...like you didn't matter, like you didn't mean anythin' to me at all. I...God, Malcolm, I'm so sorry...I was so wrapped up in my own misery I couldn't see what it was doin' to ya."  
  
He turns to me then, leans towards me, almost on his hands and knees.  
  
"I love you. Please don't leave me, Malcolm. I'll do anythin'," he chokes.  
  
Something echoes in my mind, I've heard those words before. I frown at him. Only recently too, and then I realize. His was the voice that talked and soothed while I was in the decon chamber. The voice my mind clung to through agonizing pain and terror.  
  
I move, slowly, tentatively reaching for him and finally pull him into my arms, nuzzling my face against his cheek, his tears salty on my lips. I close my eyes.  
  
"Trip...Trip. It's all right. I never intended to leave you. Not for a moment...just... I couldn't do it anymore; I couldn't bear to reach out to you again only to be pushed away. I'm so sorry I hurt you...I...love you too."  
  
And then words are not needed any longer. Healing tears flow as we hold each other close and cry.  
  


* * *

  
  
**Trip**  
  
It feels so good just to be held by him, to feel his hands soothin' my back, to hear his voice whisperin' to me. When he tells me he never intended to leave me, it feels like my heart bursts. I hurt him so much that he didn't know how else to handle it. That causes another round of helpless sobbing. It feels good to let it all go too. I bury my face in his shoulder and bawl like a baby.  
  
When the storm of tears has eased off some, I push away from him a bit. Still in his arms, but far enough so I can look into his eyes. He's crying too and the sight of those tears wrenches at my heart. There's things I still hafta say and I take a deep breath. I won't feel right until I have poured all of it out in front of him.  
  
"Malcolm," I begin and then I have to stop and clear my throat of the tears and wipe my face and try to pull myself together some. "Malcolm, I need to say some things...things I need for you to hear." I swallow hard and close my eyes.  
  
"I never meant any of what I did to hurt you...you gotta believe that, I...I'd never deliberately hurt you. I told you that after Kaitaama and I was sincere. I never would do anything again to hurt ya that badly, not on purpose." I pause a minute, breathing hard and he stays quiet and listens.  
  
"See all of what I did the last few weeks wasn't about anyone else but _me_ , understand? I...didn't wanna hurt anyone, I just ... I didn't think it was right for me to keep on livin' and lovin' and bein' happy and do all the stuff I normally would do...not when Lizzie and so many...many others never would again."  
  
I glance up at him. He's still holdin' me close and fresh tears are running down his face. He doesn't even try to wipe 'em away or anythin' he just lets those tears fall and the sight of it threatens to bring me undone again, so I look away.  
  
"That night when I stayed here with ya, when we made love and then I walked out on ya..." I palm my face with one hand. "I couldn't help it, Malcolm...all I kept thinkin' the whole time was how I was usin' you, and how it didn't mean anywhere near as much t'me as it did you...I had t'go. I was lyin' to you and lyin' to myself and I just...I couldn't keep doin' that."  
  
"I know." He pulls me close, speaking soft in a voice filled with sadness. "I knew that you weren't ready, but I thought it might help if we were together that way. I was wrong. I shouldn't have pushed it."  
  
"No, Malcolm!" I almost shove him away. "I won't let ya kick yourself about that! Ya only did what you thought was right! That's never wrong, darlin'. Don't you even _think_ it was wrong or it was your fault in any way...Ever!"  
  
He nods and offers me a watery smile and then he pulls me close again.  
  
"I love you," he whispers.  
  
He loves me and I feel like I just came home after a long time away. I sigh and close my eyes, leaning into him and after a while, he eases down on the bed, lying there, holding me in his arms. There was more I wanted to say. Things I needed to get out and hope he would understand, but all of a sudden I'm just too tired and it can wait. I sigh and snuggle close to him, drifting in that first hazy cocoon of approaching sleep and somehow, I know that Lizzie is watchin' over us and she's happy...and there won't be any nightmares tonight.  
  
I'll tell him some other time why I don't think we can get married....but not yet.


	5. Magic Fingers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter explores exactly why Trip was so pissed off by that 'magic fingers' quip.

**Trip  
  
**I don't think I should see T'Pol anymore. Wait, what-the-hell kinda thought is that? It sounds, even to me, like _see_ means more than what it really is. What I _mean_ is I don't think I should have any more of these Neuropressure treatments from her.  
  
I don't deny they help me sleep...I go out like a light for hours after but...when I close my eyes, Malcolm's lookin' at me from the back of my eyelids and I feel like a horse's ass!  
  
I'm gonna tell her tonight that I don't think we oughta do this anymore. I don't care if I never sleep again.  
**  
  
**

* * *

**  
  
Malcolm  
  
**Trip has been attending T'Pol's quarters for some kind of Vulcan therapy - massage or something, and it's all over the ship about how much time he's spending in the sub-commander's company. I'm not foolish enough to pay any attention to the rumor mill. I believed him when he swore to me he'd never hurt me by sleeping around again but it hurts to find out through mess hall gossip that he's turning to someone else for comfort. He won't talk to me - the person who's been there for him from the start, he pushes me away, and goes to T'Pol?  
  
I tried raising the topic with him when we were working together in engineering last week.  
  
"I hear you're spending an inordinate amount of time with T'Pol of an evening."  
  
He fixed me with an odd look and then shook his head.  
  
"Look, Malcolm, whatever you've heard about T'Pol and me... it's just gossip. There's nothin' in it. I go to her quarters for massages"  
  
"Oh? What, you can't soothe the ache away with those magic fingers of yours?"  
  
I regretted the words the minute they were spoken, but the thing about words is they're impossible to snatch back once they're spoken.  
  
He glared at me for a moment and then he looked away and didn't say another word; not even a goodbye when I left for the bridge.  
  
Since then, he's kept a good, wary distance from me, and I haven't bothered to seek him out.  
**  
  
  
**

* * *

**  
  
Trip  
  
**Magic fingers... I remember the first time he ever used that phrase.  
  
It was a happier time. No Xindi, no trench scarrin' the landscape of our home planet, Lizzie was still alive and I felt like I owned the world and everythin' in it, because Malcolm Reed was in my life, and in my bed, and he told me I had magic fingers after I teased him to orgasm in my cabin late one night.  
  
I never figured that Malcolm would believe the gossip, but he asked me last week why I couldn't massage it with my 'magic fingers.' He said it like it was a joke, but both of us know what he really meant. I can't believe he honestly thinks there is anythin' goin' on with T'Pol and me. It just goes t'show how much he doesn't trust me... even now... even after I swore blind I'll never cheat on him again.  
**  
**

* * *

**  
  
Malcolm  
  
**I don't know what I expected to happen. Even after that last night when we slept together, and everything seemed so perfect, when Trip slept peacefully in my arms without any nightmares.  
  
I honestly don't think I expected things to get worse after that night. I thought we'd resolved our problems I thought that we would talk more perhaps; that he would continue the process of opening up and allowing me to comfort him.  
  
I most certainly didn't expect him to shut me out again. But he has... He has.  
  
Work has taken up so much time lately. Everyone is beginning to feel the strain. Morale is low. People have begun to skip meals to avoid one another's company. It's as though the entire crew lives and breathes for one purpose. Find the Xindi, neutralize the threat. This can't go on.  
  
I don't want to do this, but as a senior staff member it's my duty to speak up. I'm going to see Trip this afternoon. Ask him to speak to the captain about arranging some R&R for the crew. I'd rather not, but it's not often that we get our druthers, is it?  
  


* * *

**  
Trip  
  
**I was in engineering, cursing my fool head off about some trivial problem or another when he showed up. I dunno how long he must've stood there watchin' - listenin' to me but when he spoke I swung up and around so fast I smacked my head against a bulkhead.  
  
When I quit seein' stars he was standing real close to me. So close I could feel the heat of his body next to mine. I closed my eyes, rubbin' the back of my head and trying to regain my equilibrium.  
  
"What c'n I do for ya?" I asked, when I was composed enough to speak. I took a step away from him, pretending to read a console, but I just needed some space.  
  
"I've come to talk to you about the crew, sir."  
  
Oh, so this was a formal visit. I shrugged off the momentary disappointment.  
  
"Yeah? What about em?"  
  
"Don't tell me you haven't noticed." He sounded amazed, and then he shrugged. "No, I don't suppose you would have--"  
  
That one stung and I hadda bite my tongue against saying somethin' mean back.  
  
"Everyone's tired, people are falling ill, Commander. I've had a lot of staff on sick leave recently. They're stressed and..."  
  
I nodded and let out a breath. "I noticed." I looked away from his searching eyes. "I guess a lot of us are getting a little punchy."  
  
Malcolm shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looked down and inspected his boots for a moment, and then met my eyes.  
  
"Would you talk to the captain? Ask him about some recreational activities for the crew?"  
  
He was askin' _me_ for favours. I studied him a minute; watched as he shifted restlessly again. He bit his lip, I watched his gaze slide away from mine again and then I nodded.  
  
"Sure, I'll ask him."  
  
"Thank you, Sir." He nodded, turned on his heel and walked out and it was all I could do to stay where I was.

I didn't run after him, but I _did_ talk to the cap'n about reinstatin' movie night. Now if I only had the courage to ask Malcolm to go with me.  
  
But I'm still a coward. **  
  
  
Malcolm  
  
  
  
**He actually did it. Surprises can still happen. Trip was obviously behind the reinstatement of movie night. The captain announced it a few days ago and tonight, they're showing a movie in the mess hall at 1900 hours, just as it used to be before the current mission commenced.  
  
Trip hasn't asked me to attend the movie with him, and if he had, I probably would have declined anyway.  
  


I may have gone if it wasn't for the fact that it is a 'classic films' night. Once a month, movie night is reserved for films from the 20th century and I've never really enjoyed them. I prefer the more modern films.  
  
I have other things I can be doing. Not work. Captain Archer has more or less declared the evening a ship-wide holiday, only essential services are to be manned. Senior Staff members are under specific orders to take the night off.  
  
I will spend the time in my cabin reading. _Hercules_ , I think.  
  


* * *

**  
****Trip** **  
  
**All in all, the movie wasn't too bad, _Road to Morocco._ It's light entertainment, nothin' anyone needed to think about too much, and from the looks on some of their faces after it finished, this was a good move.  
  
Malcolm didn't come, and that annoys me. He was the one who wanted me to ask the cap'n about it and then he can't even show up? I've been toying with the idea of going to see him and ask him why, if he thought this was so important to crew morale, he didn't put his butt on one of those damn seats and watch the movie? Even T'Pol showed up and she has more reason than anyone, not to take an interest in movie night.  
  
After leavin' the mess hall, my feet seem to carry me to his cabin of their own accord. I stand at his door for a few moments, staring at the doorbell as though it can tell me whether ringin' it is a good idea.  
  
I'm sure he's in there. Senior staff were ordered to take the night off, and there's not many other places onboard he could go. I bite my lip, suddenly wondering if this is such a good idea. Finally, with a slight shake of my head I press the button and wait for him to answer.  
  


He opens the door with a PADD in his hand and a little half smile on his lips.  
  
Eyeing the PADD, I shift my weight and try to smile back. "Hi,"  
  
"Trip..." he follows my glance to the PADD he holds and then waves it at me as he says. "It's _Hercules_...I'm not working."  
  
"Oh." I wonder when we got to bein' so awkward around each other. I meet his eyes. "Mind if I come in?"  
  
He steps back a little, waves me inside.  
  
"Please."  
  
Malcolm walks over to his desk and lays the PADD down with a gentle click against the surface. He keeps his back to me, and I wonder what's going on inside that head of his. He doesn't say anything and I take a deep breath.  
  
"I was surprised you didn't come see the movie."  
  
"Oh." I see his shoulders tense. "I...uh... well, I've never been a big fan of old movies."  
  
"You were the one who asked me to bring it up with the cap'n, Malcolm."  
  
"Yes."  
  
I frown. He's still talking to me over his shoulder I want him to turn around. I want to see his eyes.  
  
"You...coulda...made an effort, ya know. It seemed important enough to ya that you'd-"  
  
He lets out a long breath and slowly turns around to look at me and for a moment, his eyes are full of somethin' so deep and so hurt that I have to look away.  
  
"I'm sorry," he says quietly. "I...couldn't."  
  
A nebula of silence blooms between us and I know, if I don't say somethin' it's gonna stay there forever. I swallow hard, take a step forward.  
  
"Malcolm I...I need to say something, and I've been puttin' it off because I know it's not gonna be easy for ya to hear, and... it's not easy for me to say but ... I need to tell you this."  
  
I move closer and he backs up against his desk and stops, staring at me as if I've grown another head.  
  
"Don't," he whispers. "Trip, please don't." He passes a shaking hand across his face and closes his eyes. "Don't tell me it's over."  
  
"Over?" I stop and think about that for a minute. Is that what I want? I know I can't think about marryin' him right now, but do I want to go so far as to say we're finished?  
  
I hestiate too long, and he opens his eyes. Beautiful, beloved eyes that I would sacrifice my life for, and I know that's not what I want. I shake my head.  
  
"No, it's not over, Malcolm ... not from my side anyhow, but... if y’want that after ya hear what I have to say, then - I guess I won't blame ya."  
  
"Then...what?" He frowns and the fear evaporates a little.  
  
"I just think-" I pause and lick my lips. "I don't think that right now, with this mission and all ... I don't think I can be considerin' settling down, Malcolm. I - I don't think I can marry you."  
  
Malcolm's knees buckle and he drops into the chair at his desk. He buries his face in his hands and I watch as his shoulders start to shake uncontrollably. Moving quickly to his side, I lay a hand on his shoulder.  
  
"I'm sorry, Malcolm."  
  
My words sound hollow. I don't know how to console him but then he looks up at me and I see that he's laughing. Well, half laughing. There are some tears mixed up in it as well and he shakes his head at me.  
  
"You arsehole!" he says with a chuckle. "You complete, imbecilic arsehole!"  
  
"Malcolm?" I'm gettin' a little worried here. He's reactin' real strangely to this.  
  
"You mean to tell me that these past weeks, you've been avoiding me because..." He leans back in his chair. "That all of this is because you were afraid to postpone our wedding plans?"  
  
"Well... yeah I guess so."  
  
"It's fine, Trip." He stands up and reaches to caress my face with one hand. "I completely understand." A tiny smile touches his lips and he looks into my eyes for a long moment. "I understand how important our current mission is, and, nice as the thought of being married to you is, I understand it's not the right time."  
  
I stare at him, his eyelashes are all sparkling with the remnants of what I realize now, are tears of relief and I suddenly feel like I used to a long time ago.  
  
I feel like I own the world and everythin' in it.  
  
  
**~Fin~**


End file.
